Otome Game Mob Villain

Chapter 677

"I apologize."

"Eh...?!"

Kamui bowed his head deeply the moment he spoke.

I blinked in surprise but quickly realized—if anyone saw the chieftain of Zveira bowing like this to me, it could cause misunderstandings and serious problems.

Flustered, I hurriedly approached him. "Please, raise your head!" But he refused to lift his face.

"If this is about earlier today, I also spoke out of turn to you, Lord Kamui. Didn’t we settle things as 'even'?"

"That was as a chieftain. Right now, I’m apologizing as Kamui Magenta—an individual, and as Kalua’s blood-related father."

Kamui’s tone was deadly serious.

If I were as tall as Father, I’d have grabbed his shoulders and forced him to raise his head. But at my current height—barely reaching Kamui’s waist—that was impossible.

"U-understood. I accept your apology, so please lift your head. Otherwise, we can’t even talk properly."

"...You’re right. My apologies. It seems my remorse got ahead of me."

"Ahaha. No, no, don’t worry about it."

When Kamui finally raised his head, the moonlight that had been illuminating me was blocked, casting a shadow.

Though it was too dark to see clearly, I think he was smiling faintly.

I took a small step back, cleared my throat, and looked up at him.

"Now then, let me ask again. What did you wish to discuss?"

"As I said before—today’s events. Or rather, the circumstances that led Kalua to leave the bear clan’s territory. I thought I should explain."

"...Understood. Please go ahead."

The reason Kalua left.

This was something Kalua himself hadn’t yet explained to me.

The fact that he was of the chieftain’s bloodline was still only known to me within Baldia.

Given my position, perhaps I *should* have pressed him for answers.

But even if I knew, there wasn’t much I could do—and this wasn’t just some ordinary family matter.

Since Kalua’s father was Chieftain Kamui Magenta, meddling carelessly could lead to political interference or even diplomatic issues.

During this visit, the bear clan nobles had been watching Kalua closely, so word might eventually reach Father and the others.

Still, for now, it seemed best to pretend ignorance... or so I’d thought.

I hadn’t expected Kamui to bring it up himself.

"It began a few years ago—before Baldia took in the beastkin children... no, before they were *protected*."

With that preface, Kamui explained the situation in Zveira at the time.

Apparently, a food crisis caused by poor harvests had struck all of Zveira.

Each tribe implemented countermeasures, but casualties in some areas were unavoidable.

Around then, the former Grandork family—Elba and Gareth—began gathering "beastkin children who could be sold as slaves" from various territories using tribal messengers.

Officially, Zveira forbade the slave trade of its own people.

But having endured food crises many times before, Zveira had an unspoken understanding of "population control" during famines.

Even the most benevolent tribes recognized it as a last resort when all else failed.

Time and again, they had faced the impossible choice: *"Save one of two children, or lose both?"*

The adults of the beastkin clans knew all too well that acting on emotion alone would only lead to the latter outcome.

"Kalua *should* have understood that, logically. But then the children from the scattered villages he was trying to save... began vanishing one after another."

"...They were culled."

When I echoed his words, Kamui nodded silently.

The night wind rustled through the grass, its whisper carrying through the stillness.

"He was especially shaken when a boy named Ared—one he’d doted on like a younger brother—disappeared."

"Ared...?"

I knew that name well.

Ared was the vice-captain of the squad Kalua led in the Second Knight Order—a boy with an almost girlishly cute face.

For some reason, he was quite popular among certain maids and noble ladies who’d seen him in the imperial capital.

Even to me, he had the vibe of a stuffed teddy bear—maybe that was the appeal.

Though, being a bear clansman, he’d recently been growing taller and taller... I was a little jealous of that.

Come to think of it, when Kalua first arrived in Baldia, he’d told me, *"I’ll be my comrades’ substitute."*

He must have been deeply concerned about Ared and the others.

"You know him?"

Kamui’s eyebrow twitched as he tilted his head.

"Yes. Among the children Baldia took in, there was a bear clansman named Ared. Given his dynamic with Kalua, I believe he’s the boy you mentioned."

"I see. Then it’s likely all the children Kalua worried about were taken in by Baldia."

Kamui’s moonlit expression seemed faintly relieved—the look of a father and chieftain comforted by the knowledge his kin had been saved.

But his face soon darkened again.

"However, after the children vanished from the villages, Kalua began questioning Zveira’s ways—the very nature of our tribes. We argued many times. Sometimes shouting."

"I see... But Zveira officially banned the slave trade—or rather, 'population control.' If Kalua pointed that out, wouldn’t you have had no choice but to act, Lord Kamui?"

"Sharp as ever, Lord Rid. You strike right at the heart of it."

Kamui laughed bitterly.

"Of course, as chieftain, I *had* forbidden it. I issued warnings when reports came in. But knowing the state of those villages, I couldn’t punish anyone. Doing so would’ve been a death sentence for the people. And it was a famine—other tribes couldn’t take in the children, nor could we afford to owe favors."

"...It must have been difficult for you, Lord Kamui."

The words left me honestly, straight from the heart.

A chieftain responsible for his territory must sometimes make impossible choices—*weighing lives on a scale.*

Two people are on the verge of death, and only one can be saved.

Without a decision, time runs out, and both perish.

In such moments, who do you save? And why?

Father’s heir lessons often involve such dilemmas.

(Though I always blurt out *"I’ll save both!"* and get scolded.)

But afterward, I’m forced to choose anyway—and explain my reasoning.

The consequences of owing favors to other tribes or nations... That’s another thing Father often warns me about.

In politics, whether between nations, nobles, or tribes, a *"favor"* is no different from debt.

If another country took in children during a famine, they’d naturally incur costs raising them.

That becomes a *"favor"*—something to be repaid.

Sometimes in gold, sometimes in resources, territory, or military support—the forms are endless.

Fail to repay it, and it’s like defaulting on a loan—your credibility crumbles, and no one will deal with you again.

Hence, those in power must be *extremely* cautious about incurring debts.

"Indeed. But someone had to judge and decide. That’s the burden of a chieftain. Kalua, however... saw things differently."

Kamui shook his head slightly.

"Seeing the children he cared for vanish broke something in him. He questioned everything. After countless arguments with me and the nobles, he concluded he couldn’t change things from within... and so he cast aside the Magenta name and left."

"I see..."

All I could do was nod.

Father must have faced similar choices during battles like the Battle of Hazama Fortress.

Somehow, his back seemed even broader in my mind now.

And Kamui had said something earlier today—

That Baldia was *"blessed."*

What counts as "blessed" varies, but at the very least, Baldia had never faced food shortages.

Though we farm, the empire’s vast territories mean we can buy food from other regions if we have the funds.

Plus, the Emperor and conservative nobles prioritized food self-sufficiency, investing heavily in agriculture.

Perhaps they’d even studied Zveira’s crises and prepared countermeasures in advance.

"Enough preamble."

Kamui’s gaze sharpened as he looked straight at me.

"Now that you know of Kalua’s lineage, Lord Rid—what will you do with him? Even if he renounced his name, being of a former chieftain’s bloodline complicates things, doesn’t it?"

"Ah, now that you mention it... I suppose it might."

I rested a hand on my chin, pondering how to respond.

Just then, the moon slipped behind clouds, dimming the world around us.